


Bullethearts

by regsregis



Series: Breaking your habits [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9879104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: a nearly direct follow up to Bulletproof.They bang, nuf' said.It's meant to be a quick fix since things comming up in BP2 r gonna be nasty so knock yourself out for now.But it's not really plot relevant so .... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯





	1. Karma’s gonna come collect your debt

For the most part he avoids Rhys as much as he can, today marking his third week without seeing kid’s dumb face. And over two months since they had their little heart to heart. It’s not like he’s running away, that’s just not Jack’s style. But then again, Rhys’ indifference drives him bananas. Emotional outbursts are a rarity these days and in between those, all he’s getting are blank stares and exasperate sighs. 

In the dead of the night, laying wide awake and with his hand shoved down his pants Jack supposes he could even like the kid, the comfortable silence that used to hang between them, the fights they used to have and the sheer power Rhys exercises over Atlas. But those moments grew far and few inbetween in the past month. He was asked not to show his pity. He doesn’t have any to give anyway but that leaves him all the more clueless. Missing the glimpses of the strong, confident man he caught in the past, he does what he can to bring them out whenever he finds them interacting sporadically. Which means outdoing even himself in being a complete asshole. He does that in subtle ways, not the grand scale because Rhys doesn’t seem to be impressed by those anymore, what he’s aiming for are small, personal, spiteful acts.

In return Rhys, with every next petty crime committed against him, grows more professional, shutting Jack out and becoming distant.

Which isn’t much help because the more sparse his shows of dominance grow the more Jack longs for them. And the board does everything they can to avoid stepping on this tired, weakened man’s toes. So there’s no one left but Jack who can rile the kid up, whole Atlas tucking their tails between their legs and waiting for everything to blow over. 

The end creeps closer, sneaking between changing seasons and days spent on restless agitation driving him to nervous pacing. Not many people know what’s approaching, and those who do, can’t help but to treat Rhys like he was made of fucking glass. Jack can see how much he hates it in his bloodshot eyes and in the way he shuns their concern with bad jokes.

In the dead of the night, laying wide awake and tugging at himself Jack supposes he could even like the kid if the aforementioned kid wasn’t so bad at pretending he’s okay when he clearly isn’t. Jack supposes he could maybe fall for the kid if he didn’t feel so helpless, watching the indirect repercussions of his actions slowly consume the man he grew to see nearly as his equal. He knows there’s an abundance of people he could take his frustration out on, fuck or kill, both most likely. But they are weak, eager to please and follow his commands and Jack likes himself a good challenge, there is only so long a scared, quivering mess of a human being can keep him entertained. What turns him on is power and defiance, even if it’s directed at him, he’ll count his blessings whenever he can find them. 

With a strangled hiss pushing past his lip Jack slumps down but the tension doesn’t lift and he’s fuming even more. He wonders if it’s him who’s burning too bright, those brave idiots he let too close to himself long dead and now Rhys is about to join them. Despite grim outcome it doesn’t fail to stroke his ego.

-II-

It’s another week before he steels himself, mind finally made and hell, he’s ready to spank that stupid kid out of his stupor. Something deep inside of him is screaming at him that Rhys is probably just tired and should be left alone, but Jack has never been good at listening to that voice of reason, too preoccupied with his own selfish desires and right now he desires for the moping to end. If Rhys is going down one way or another, Jack is going to make sure his last months aren’t going to leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth, especially not his. He’s not ready for the grief that comes with missing the time he could have spent with someone but didn’t. He shuns the fake memories and the real feelings that came with finding about Angel’s fate. 

The controls on the door leading to Rhys’ apartment beep and he moves in, hoping to find the other man despite his tendency to leave early for work. The place is quiet so he guesses he must have missed him but after further inspection Rhys is found sound asleep, curled in his bed and Jack’s first instinct is to kick him out. He padds closer, feet against a soft carpet and the side of the bed dips slightly as he sits down. A glance at the sleeping figure reveals a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck, eyes screwed shut and messy hair framing his face. Rhys huffs and trembles. A nightmare, easy to recognize, easy to remedy. He… he has been shown how to do this, by someone long gone and he doesn’t bother reminiscing, glad to have the knowledge in the first place. Never one to hesitate follows his instincts. The skin against his fingers is damp and cool but there’s some underlying warmth, burning like fever. The key here is to be gentle and consistent, the hand smoothing through Rhys’ hair is firm, long languid motions trying not to startle him, to bring some peace without waking him up just yet. There is a whimper but the kid begins to settle down, breathing evening out as he rolls onto his back. Jack takes a moment to scan his face, eyes, as always, drawn to those stupidly long eyelashes. His cheekbones became more pronounced, as did the shadows pooling under his eyes, he follows the fine lines fanning from the corners of Rhys’ eyes with his thumb, down to the deeper lines around his parted lips and that’s when Rhys finally decides to wake up with a start. 

So to avoid any questions Jack does the only sensible thing in this situation. He flicks him on the nose. Hard.

“Wakey wakey sleepy head!” And follows that with a crooked grin.

“Wow! I did not miss -that-.” It gets him the reaction he wanted, angry sparks in mismatched eyes and a snarl. Perfect.

Rhys sits up, blanket draped over his lap and Jack lets his gaze linger on his bare chest. 

“And I owe this rude awakening to…?”

“Some projects I’d like you to chime in on.” He’s got his excuse ready. And with that, Jack trots to the kitchen to grab some brand new mugs and get the coffee machine going. A short while later, Rhys emerges from his bedroom, a bedraggled (understandably) look on his face, in nothing but his shorts and a bird’s nest on his head. He’s grumpy having been woken from his beauty sleep but perks up when Jack starts laying out his ideas. A good bunch of tweaks to the security systems and an improved firewall and they both bow their heads over a stack of datapads, sat by the kitchen countertop which also served as a breakfast bar.

“Looking good Jack, go on, forward it to the programing department.”

“Did and done kiddo.” That prompts a furrow of Rhys’ eyebrows. Not because Jack did it without getting a green light but because it left the question of his sudden visit up in the air. He lets the unspoken question linger in the air, mildly curious as to what the other man is thinking.

“...’ve been missing you kiddo lately.” And there is the answer. If there is one thing Jack has picked from Rhys in their time together is honesty. Not that Jack wasn’t honest before, or rather, saying every single stupid thing that came to his mind, his idea of honesty. And now it has been amplified so much he doesn’t bother censoring -anything- coming out of his mouth in the least. He follows his statement with a soft brush over Rhys’ forearm, the back of his fingers running over the light dusting of fine hairs there.

“That why you’ve been acting up lately?” Rhys shies away from the contact at first, running his fingernails over the area of contact. He’s ticklish and Jack never needed to make a mental note of something this badly.

“Might have…” He hops down from a tall bar stool and closes the distance between them. “...or I’m just an asshole, no reasons needed.” A breathy chuckle comes as a reply and Jack is carefully gauging the reaction he gets as he lifts his hand to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind Rhys’ ear. Something is telling him that he wasn’t the only one suffering restless nights.

“I like to think it’s the former.” A mechanical hand sneaks to rest on his hip, pulling them that fraction closer and that’s all the invitation he needs to fall into Rhys’ gravitational pull. Forcing his head up to look him in the eyes, Jack takes advantage of the few centimeters he now has over the sitting man, leaning down close enough to almost, almost let their lips brush as he speaks again.

“I hate seeing you wilt away pretty thing.” By now the atmosphere has become charged, breaths mingling and the restrained need to act, touch and bite tugs at the reins. 

“You’ll be surprised to learn that I’m everything but that... “ Finally Rhys moves but instead of soft lips and tongue Jack is getting sharp teeth, a bite and a tug and then the contact is broken again. “...I’m just really -fucking- fed up with everyone’s shit.”

Skimming over his cheek, Jack tilts his head to whisper in the other man’s ear. “How about we get you something else to be… fed with, hmm? Be a good boy for me and get down on your knees kitten…” A hand is placed on top of Rhys’ shoulder, giving him a light shove to get going but at the same time the pressure is light enough to leave room for a ‘no’. Which doesn’t come and the kid deliberately slowly sinks down, palms placed atop Jack’s clothed thighs and dark eyes fixed onto his. There is that air of confidence and cool calmness emanating from the kneeling man despite the compromising position and Jack bites his lower lip because fuck, he missed this. 

“Permission to wreck you?”

“Heh, do your best… If you can…” Rhys trails off and the crooked, challenging grin he’s shooting is the most alive Jack has seen him lately. He figures it’s like an addiction because he needs more and he needs this stuff to be stronger, flooding his body and coursing through his veins. Letting the quiet before the storm linger, his hand moves to smooth back tangled strands of Rhys’ hair and then gently lead his face closer to where Jack wants it most. The moment lips skim over the buckle of his belt, he channels a month worth of restless energy into a knee delivered straight to his chest, leaving the other man gasping for breath and stunned. It’s followed with a shove to get him tumbling backwards and once he gets him flat on his back, hateful stare boring into him, Jack places his foot on top of the laying figure. His plan, so carefully devised is working out, devilish smirk tugging the corners of his lips up and once again he lets the full scope of the situation dawn onto the other man. Mismatched eyes roam over his body, inching lower until there is a sharp intake of breath and a growl. He’s grown not to question Rhys’ penchant for cereals and questionable articles of clothing but he sure as hell is going to use it for his own purposes. The unmistakable mix of yellow and purple zigzags and a pattern of dancing skags printed on the sock he might have...borrowed sends Rhys reeling. Suddenly the word spins and his ass painfully hits the floor, an ‘omph’ hiccuped between bouts of laughter and he’s being dragged by his leg.

“You utter…” Rhys crawls over him to pin Jack down but he’s quick to retaliate struggling to switch their positions “...unredeemable…” there is a hand grabbing him by the face “...ASSHOLE.” He loves seeing Rhys agitated, with ‘agitated’ being an understatement as he’s borderline murderous. And everything over such a simple thing, Jack gives himself extra cookie points for that.

Eventually Rhys more or less lets them roll over but he still keeps one hand fisted into the front of Jack’s shirt.

“What is it kitten, hoped I’d let you suck me off like a good boy you are, hmm?” His lips move to press against a pulse point, biting down against the junction between his jaw and throat. “I ain’t got patience for such games.” It’s true, being a dom takes practice, patience and a level head and he’s got none of those. Especially not when Rhys shoves his hands down the back of his pants.

“I on the other hand…” followed with a squeeze “...have plenty of it.” He’s being shot a mischievous smirk and he’s beginning to think Rhys has gotten hella good at it. Too good. And then he moves, catching Jack by surprise and extracting himself from the grip he had on him. Despite his struggle he quickly finds himself face down, arm uncomfortably bent at his back and a knee digs into his lower back pinning him down. Trying not to think back to the last time he found himself in this position he snarls and kicks back but his heel catches nothing. 

“Perhaps some other time kiddo.” His voice is slightly strangled, it’s difficult to speak when you have a faceful of hard floor and a raging hard-on. “Right now i need you like yesterday…” The pressure lifts off his back as Rhys moves to plop himself down on his armchair. 

“Not stopping you there.” And he gestures to himself in an invite. 

Jack nearly trips over as he scrambles to his feet and makes his way closer, unbuttoning and carelessly tossing his shirt aside as he drops down between Rhys’ nonchalantly splayed legs. Not needing to be told twice he peels his boxers down and shoves his face down, hot flesh slipping between his lips as he tries to swallow as much as he can in one go. That earns him a satisfied growl and mechanical fingers combing through his hair. He motions for the pet to turn into a grip, already working his way up his length, tongue lapping and teeth scraping against sensitive skin.

“Eager hmm? Never imagined Handsome Jack being this good at dick sucking.”

“I’m great at everything I do.” He smirks and tries to commit to memory the way obscene words roll of Rhys’ tongue. His thoughts scatter when a bare foot presses down into his lap before it’s teasingly trailed higher. The touch is too unfocused to get him off but the view before him and the sounds he’s getting more than make up for it. 

When Jack commits to something, he -fucking- commits and right now he’s mouthing at a handful of hard flesh like there is no tomorrow, hand finally leaving Rhys’ thigh to sneak between his own legs, quickly undoing his fly and palming at himself. Idly wondering if Rhys is getting off of the view as much as would he expertly slides his hand up and down. 

He’s nearing his own release when the hand still tangled in his hair tugs him away and as he looks up to steal a peek it’s clear to see that Rhys isn’t lagging behind. For a brief moment a sober thought sparks through the haze fogging his mind. He’s going to murder this dumb kid if he dares to finish on his perfect face. Voicing his displeasure with a growl he lifts his ass off the ground, still kneeling but hopefully out of reach. Rhys however seems to have something else in mind as he curls down, back bowed, temple against Jack’s and a hand at the back of his head keeping him close. He breaths in, taking in the familiar scent. There’s a string of raspy curses and he knows that Rhys has decided to take the matters into own hand. With nothing stopping him now he quickly tips himself over the edge, a tale-tell huff against his ear announcing that he’s being followed. 

When he sits back Rhys is a mess, the best kind of mess if anybody is interested in Jack’s opinion. Which everybody -should- be of course. 

“You are a dog Jack, I’ll need to have someone clean the mess you’ve made. Again.” He receives a dirty look to which he responds with a tongue poking from between his lips.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” It’s time to get up, the floor not being the most comfortable place for post-coital relaxation. 

“Agreed.” He needs food and Rhys needs a shower so he ushers the kid to the bathroom while he sets off to order some take-out.


	2. Criminal mentality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its uhhh something, didnt plan on this to turn out this way and also didnt get to write what i was aiming for with this whole small part of breaking your habits so there will be one more itty bitty chapter once i figure it out :^)

It’s late evening as he finally powers down the screen, eyes chaffed from all the rubbing he kept doing throughout the day and he stretches with a yawn, spine popping with relief at the change of position. Well past due his usual working hours Rhys needed to make up for his late morning but the day isn’t over as he still has a pending invite to join his friends for a late dinner, something he’s eternally thankful for, little time during the day to snack on anything leaving him positively starving. There is a nagging thought at the back of his mind, a reminder to check in with his uninvited guest who seems to have spent majority of the day tinkering with 'something' using Rhys’ personal work station at home, a large sum of money diverted to an unknown source, something about which his PA alerts him halfway through the day but he decides not to investigate. If Jack doesn’t want him to know what he’s up to there’s no need to pry and if he does, well, Rhys will hear about it sooner or later. Regardless, if Jack is still at his place as he suspects, it’s only fair to let him know Rhys isn’t going to be back any time soon, so he can… you know, call dibs on the master bedroom or go back to raiding Rhys’ socks drawer or whatever no-good thing he might be up to. 

“ ‘sup pumpkin?” Calling up the contact on his echo comm Rhys is surprised that the call is answered almost immediately.

“Hey…” his voice is soft and raspy, mostly from not being used for the past couple of hours and he needs to clear his throat before starting over “Hey. I’ll be back later, please don’t wreck the place until I come back.” 

“... yeah. Okay. Thought you’d be headed back home by now.” He picks up on some hesitation tinging Jack’s voice and that has him wondering because the other man just doesn’t -do- hesitation. “Remember to return before midnight princess.” He ends in a fake upbeat tone.

“Will do.”

With no time to dwell on Jack’s suddenly soured mood he’s on the move again, headed for a restaurant where the rest of the gang should be waiting for him.

-II-

And they are, Vaughn, Yvette and surprisingly August but no Sasha. Later he learns that she needed to leave before he got here. There are empty platters all over the table but that doesn’t deter him from ordering something for himself. By the time he’s almost done, nibbling on the last bun, his friends’ attention finally shifts to him. Seems they have been patiently waiting for him to finish gulping down his meal before including him in the light banter going on. For the past few weeks they have been tentatively avoiding aggravating him in any way, which, as it happens, got on his nerves more than anything they could possibly say, but tonight the atmosphere is far more relaxed, unknowingly to him, due to his own more optimistic attitude. 

“Feeling better bro?” Vaughn’s words catch him with a mouthful of bread and he shoots a half-smile in response, eyes crinkling in the corners and one eyebrow cocked.

“Hell yeah he is!” Before he can actually swallow down and reply Yvette cuts in with a somewhat triumphant note to her tone. “Someone got lucky, innit?” Wait what? He scrambles his brain over what she could possibly mean. 

“...Yv?” He’s not the only one confused by her offhanded comment and she takes a moment to keep the three men wondering, pleased smirk curling her lips.

“Rhys, be a good boy and look at that guy over there…” Suspiciously he does as told, craning his neck to get a better look at the indicated waiter. Nothing’s off about the man and he wrinkles his nose in concentration. There’s a bout of giggling, a thought that they are way too old for this crosses his mind as he whips his head back to stare those clowns down.

“What?”

“This and that loopy smile he’s been sporting all morning tipped me off.” She’s ignoring him, talking to the other two and Rhys huffs in annoyance, still unable to piece everything together.

“Hey, hey, hey guys wanna fill me in?”

“Rhys… honey, you’ve got a love bite on your throat. So how about -you- fill us in.” His heart stops for a second, hand shooting up to run over the side of his neck to try and rub off the offending mark, as expected but not as hoped there is no tactile indication that anything is there but the amused laughs which follow his gesture are enough to bring some heat to his skin. He can’t quite pin when it happened but he has a vague memory of Jack’s teeth and lips at his throat and well, he’s kinda used to it by now. Used to it enough that he let himself slip like that. He wonders if denial will get him anywhere and judging by the stares he’s receiving the answer is no. He’s gonna try anyway but before he gets the chance to speak someone once again cuts in.

“I have the knowledge and I’m willing to barter.” Vaughn is smirking as he smugly strokes his beard and Rhys thinks he hates him a little bit. But he also wonders what is it exactly that his friend knows.

“Bro…” No pleading will help though when Yvette makes her offer and he feels betrayed that his secret is being sold for two lunches. TWO LUNCHES, Vaughn has no shame.

“See Yv, there’s this guy who’s like… totally obsessed with Rhys.” He wouldn’t call it like that but his whimpers of denial fall on a deaf ear. “Crashing at his place and stealing his clothes… which is a real bummer because it’s kinda creepy you know.” No denying that tho, and he can only be glad that Vaughn doesn’t know the full scope of the situation. “They’ve been at it for quite some time, all the kinky stuff if the bruises and bite marks are anything to go by.” Or maybe he does but he’s also misinterpreting things as far as Rhys is concerned and it all sounds plain -wrong-, but also true. “He really is a horrible… -JACK-ass.” 

Rhys huffs in annoyance and tries to avoid Yvette’s stare as he fixes his collar in a futile attempt to hide the unfortunate bruise.

“But I’m thinking our -pumpkin- really does enjoy having a knight in shining armour come to his rescue every now and then, huh.” Et tu August? At least he could drop that condescending attitude. Rhys would never think he’d get to see Vaughn and August team up together against him with the former playing the bad cop and the latter the good one no less. 

It doesn’t take much more humiliation, though it could take far less if you were to ask Rhys, for things to click in place for Yvette and she’s already sniggering.

“You are hopeless Rhys.” He knows. “So what it is that you two are having? Lay your cards on the table -pumpkin-, we’re not letting you slip this time.” 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist Yv, it’s just a uhh… mutual … arrangement…” He carefully formulates his words, not having previously bothered to define whatever it is that has begun to shape between him and Jack. “Something like… casual friends… no, frenemies but with benefits.” Yeah. That sounds about right and he’s kinda proud of himself for somehow making through it.

“Bro, we are not judging you…” A quick glance stolen at Yvette and August slightly affects Vaughn’s next words. “Well, maybe a little bit, but yeah, I trust that you know what you are doing. And if it comes with the added bonus of having the galaxy’s biggest asshole kept in check then all the better.” His friend’s reassuring words put him slightly at ease and he shoots an apologetic smile towards the three of them.

“Which, “ Yvette’s voice is suddenly really somber “ begs the question what will happen when the ‘galaxy’s biggest asshole’ ends up with his heart broken and no one to keep him in check.” It prompts a low whistle and a mumbled ‘bummer’ from August. And Rhys couldn’t agree more, no better way to bring someone down.

“Guys… I did not mean for this to turn out like this. Nor am I sacrificing my ass just to keep him placated, that was never the plan. When you agreed to go with my plan we’ve left a leeway in case I couldn’t deliver on my promise to change that man. Nothing has changed since then.” His eyes turn sharp as he scales the three of them with his eyes and he sits a little taller, head held a little higher and voice turned all business. “What has however change is us, we’re not the way we used to be in Hyperion days. No more cowering, no more fuck ups and no more galaxy ruled by fear of that raging prick.” A part of him wishes for the rest of the gang to be here, because he needs them, Fiona and Sasha, Loader Bot and Gortys and all the other friends they’ve made along the way to hear him out. “We’ve built our Atlas to be everything Hyperion wasn’t just as much as I am building Handsome Jack to be what Pandora needs him to be.”

Vaughn is positively sweeped off of his feet, August is part skeptical part convinced and Yvette is…

“So you’ve done butt stuff…” She is ticking of a non existent bullet point on a nonexistent data pad nodding to herself as she goes “...we hear ya Rhys.”

So much for his grand and inspiring speech as he buries his face his hands. But he has made his point and after some more nagging on Yvette’s part and some more claims that they don’t need to know -everything- from August they end up parting their ways, the two headed in their own separate directions as Vaughn stays with him for a little while longer, both taking a walk towards Rhys’ apartment. 

“Do you think you love him?” It was only a matter of time till someone dropped the ‘L’ word and he’s mostly glad that out of all people it was his best friend.

“Iunno… he’s okay I guess.” That gets him an incredulous look and a quiet snigger.

“Don’t let him catch you saying that…” 

Rhys slowly takes one last drag before snubbing his cigarette in a nearby trash can and they walk in silence for a while as he tries figuring out his next words.

“Remember how I used to be the number one HJ fanboy back in the day?” Hard to forget that really and Vaughn just nods. “I had a very certain image of the man in my head, I think we all did..” Lost in his thoughts Rhys stops, hands stuffed in his pockets as he absent mindedly fixes his gaze on the skyline. “ And for all the things he turned out -not- to be… yeah, I think I do, bro.” He doesn’t delude himself that his feelings are requited though, but it’s good the way it is and what Jack gives him back is everything he can give, being the man he is, and after all it -is- exclusive. And that's such a thrilling thought, to have something no one else can have.

A light touch to his elbow brings him back to the reality and although he avoids looking at his friend, he falls back into the lazy pace they were taking.

“That’s… good to hear, you deserve to be happy…” There is a lingering question as to whether Rhys actually -is- happy there and he answers that with a stiff nod.

“I’m good, I’ll take my slivers as I go and if it doesn’t pan out… well, it was worth a shot.” They both know that in the end it isn’t going to pan out but Rhys isn’t going to force anything and he’ll do right by his friends and by Jack himself. For now however he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, light headache beginning to build behind his eyes.

“Just be careful.” And with that warning Vaughn takes the next turn, his own place located just down the block. 

-II-

Coming back home Rhys treads carefully, all lights switched off indicating that he’s either alone or, the most possible option, his unwitting flatmate is asleep by now. Of course it turns out to be the latter, and he finds Jack curled in -his- bed, huddled under a pile of blankets and comforters. Despite picking up a change of clothes as deftly as he can, Rhys still lingers in the doorway, listening to an even breath for a little while.

“So when I do it it’s creepy but when you -do- it it’s suddenly okay? You’re -late- princess.” The groggy voice startles him and he berates himself for missing his cue to leave. And for being creepy and staring. Not so much for being late though.

“Yeah… sorry for that.” Sorry not sorry but all he wants to do now is to grab a quick shower and flop down onto his bed to sleep the building migraine off.

“You are late.” There’s accusation in the other man’s voice and the louder noise is jarring, serving only to get on Rhys’ nerves more. But it also reminds him that the last time they have spoken Jack seemed somewhat apprehensive and that prompts him to pad back towards the bed, taking a tentative seat at the edge.

“Yeah. I know. Sorry for that.” This time he makes an effort to sound a little bit more sincere. “You needn’t have waited.” It’s not the question of ‘if’ anymore, he knows that the other man waited for him regardless of the offended snort that comes as a reply.

The silence stretches, Rhys picking at the hem of his shirt before he finally decides to voice his thoughts, returning to their morning conversation.

“...’ve been missing you too.” Even if it comes at a price of needing to surrender his bed, he likes having the other man around, not only because he can keep an eye on him but also because Jack has grown to be such an essential part of his life that he feels like -home-. 

When the bundle of blankets shifts, slipping from broad shoulders a tinge of blue light outlines the figure moving to sit across the bed, back propped against the wall and a soft pat follows.

“C'mere kiddo.” 

Rhys only nods in reply, the soft light intense enough in the pitch darkness that he assumes that the gesture has been seen. But before he crawls further onto the bed, he takes a few moments to shuck his jacket and vest, popping the first few buttons of the collar of his shirt open, cuffs following shortly.

The wall against his back is cool and Jack against his side is hot, from his sleep and from the usual fever burning the man down. It’s comforting in it’s own way and Rhys sighs, letting his eyes fall shut and head roll to a side. They stay like that for a while, both of them consumed by their respective thoughts, as Rhys lets Yvette’s words float to the fore, despite dismissing them previously, he can’t shake them off now. It’s only when Jack moves, to wrap his arm around the other man most probably, that Rhys finally pulls away, sleep tugging at his consciousness and headache turning into a dull pounding in his skull. 

He’s stopped at the door again, the warmth following him, Jack lingering close as he’s kept stuck in Rhys’ orbit. He pays no attention to the pinched expression and furrowed dark eyebrows too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

“Rhys…” it’s rare to hear his own name slip the other’s lips and that’s also the only thing preventing him from leaving as he turns around to face him “...how many people close to me will I have to lose to…” Jack trails off, a vague gesture indicating what he means. Except it makes no sense to Rhys’ addled brain and he’s left guessing what it means. How many people will he have to lose to atone for what he’s done? For the sins and crimes against Pandora? For his own stubbornness and tunnel vision? Or for all the lives lost to it? There is no telling and as far as Rhys knows, Jack isn’t so sure either. Could very well be about learning the lesson.

See, 4 a.m. does funny things to you, it’s the time when self-doubt rears it’s ugly head and you get a little bit too introspective for your own liking. Seems like Handsome Jack isn’t an exception to the rule as he lets his head droop slightly, shoulders hunched and there is that unusual air of desperation around him.

“Hey…” Rhys lets his voice be soft and quiet, a little bit uneven from the tiredness but steady where it matters. “...you’re Handsome goddamn Jack, remember? You’re not the one to let little bumps along the road stop you from going. You’ve got this.” He can sense the uneasy atmosphere but this time instead of offering an embrace he opts for a different kind of touch. His flesh hand rests against Jack’s shoulder and a light squeeze follows, it's fairly non-commital but it's also better than nothing, something to make a statement except he doesn't know if he wants to prove something to Jack or himself. “Come on old man, don’t go suddenly soft on me. And don’t say something you’ll regret in the morning.” In all honesty he doesn’t want to be having this conversation right now. Partly due to his headache but mostly because he doesn’t want to be having this conversation ever. There is no use anyway. Jack takes a hissed breath ready to speak again but before he gets the chance to do it, Rhys interrupts it with a curt ‘good night’ and finally leaves, leaving the other man alone with his thoughts.

-II-

Morning comes and Rhys finds himself on his way to the kitchen, fingers running through his bed hair and yawn tearing at his lips. To his surprise there are no broken cups so that’s a plus. However, on the kitchen counter a plate is waiting for him, food, upon further inspection, turning out cold. It takes him a moment to figure out that it’s something far from fancy but definitely home-made if the pans piling in the sink are any indicator. It is accompanied by a clean wine glass and he soon spots a sister set, dirty and chucked between the dirty pots and pans. A pang of guilt makes his stomach twist and yesterday’s call suddenly makes more sense. 

Fishing out a fork from the drawer he makes a grab for the plate only to have it snatched away as Jack shows up and he needs to stop him, fingers wrapped around his wrist when the other man makes a move to dispose of the cold content of the plate. 

“Hey, that’s my breakfast!”

“Like hell it is.”

“Like hell you are throwing it out. Give it back.” Jack struggles weakly but he seems pleased watching Rhys dig in even though he still keeps on pretending that he’s insulted. 

“It’s good.” And it really is, simple but filling and his first instinct is to tell Jack that he didn’t suspect he’d be a decent cook but then he remembers the last time he complimented the man on some of his less everyday (as far as Handsome Jack ‘everyday’ goes it usually means murder. Or choking. Or both) skills and in the end Rhys decides not to give in, refusing to fuel Jack’s monstrous ego more than it’s necessary. 

“Was better yesterday.” 

“Oh come on, don’t be such a child.” It’s good to know they are back to normal despite last night and it’s good to have company and Rhys thinks to himself that it’s also good to know that Jack cares. “Thank you, you know?” He means what he says and his smile grows a fraction wider at the cocky reply he gets.

“I know.”


	3. Falling in reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these two babies take another big step into their 'frenemies with benefits' arrangement and i don't mean the butt stuff *wink wonk*

-II-

Done with morning necessities Rhys runs a hand through his damp hair, eyes fixed on the holo display blooming from his open palm. Idly scrolling through today’s news his quiet moment is interrupted when an errant hand comes to pet through his slicked back hair, not a surprise given that ‘moments of peace’ are something he had to give up on accepting Jack into his life. Willingly or not. Regardless, he gives a quiet, inquisitive hum, not even bothering to shift his eyes to acknowledge the other man.

“...see pumpkin, your pal here has been thinking ‘bout those ports you‘n’me have…” Fingers trail lower to circle the metal implant on Rhys’ temple, a strange if not entirely unwelcome gesture. The back of his armchair dips slightly when two elbows rest on it, Jack getting more comfortable and hardly intent of letting him go back to his reading.

“Mmm? What about it?” He’s kinda missing Jack’s point here finally shooting him a quizzical glance. “Any medical info you might need is in the files in the other room.” Well, since Jack has already raided his data storage room he may just as well look for whatever he needs himself without bothering Rhys. 

There’s a somewhat disappointed huff coming from the other man as he moves to lean against the armrest this time, hovering over his sitting companion. 

“What are you getting at?” He’s still slightly suspicious as there never is any good coming from Jack’s strange behaviours. 

“Just been wondering if it’s supposed to be this… receptive to the touch. Yours clearly isn’t. And since all the docs are six feet under I ain’t got anyone better to ask.” Rhys feels like punching the other man, on principle and also because he actually -first- went ahead and started prodding with his fingers and only then thought about asking. Instead, he just gives an exasperated sigh. 

“Used to be, for the first couple months, later it kinda uhh... sparked only when you hacked through me into those Atlas bots. Now, the scar tissue buildup is mostly numb as far as the skin around it goes.” 

“Shame.”

“And who do I have to thank for that asshole?” Immediately after those words slip his lips a sort of mild regret builds in him. But only mild. They don’t need to bicker over what has happened. Water under the bridge and so on and so on. Not that he’ll ever forget that but Rhys is willing to chalk it all up to Jack’s shitty personality, trust issues and … you know really -shitty personality-, something he thinks, or hopes, he knows how to deal with now. Regret quickly turns into a roll of two mismatched eyes as the other man only responds with an unapologetic grin. “So… is it like -good- receptive or -bad- receptive?” His hand is already sneaking up to rest over Jack’s shoulder, thumb brushing over the side of his neck and it earns him a pleased hum.

“Depends on who’s doing the touching.” The grin melts into something softer and that’s all the invitation Rhys needs to skim his fingers over the metal embedded into warm skin. A light jolt makes Jack jerk but doesn’t stop him from shooting the other man a half lidded flash, met with a cocked eyebrow and a smug smirk. “Don’t let it go to your head kiddo, it’s nice but it ain’t a fucking turn on switch.” In all fairness it’s good that Jack clarified the matter because Rhys could swear it -was- a turn on switch. Either way, a light tug to Jack’s shirt has him straddling Rhys’ lap, palms against his shoulders and head bowed so he can nose his way along the curve of the other’s cheek. Rough hands are dragged higher, along the tattooed neck, one moving to tangle into the longer hair at the nape of his neck, the other tilting his head back with a thumb against his chin. Anticipation makes his heart skip a beat and Rhys leans into the touch in hopes for more contact, a kiss or a bite both expected but not delivered as Jack instead puts a little bit more space between. He’s staring down the length of his nose with a predatory look, straightening a little bit and pressing against the hand at his neck, his behaviour in a sharp juxtaposition to, dare he say it, fairly gentle thumbs rubbing over his skin, two points of comforting contact keeping him grounded.

“You gonna bail out on me again kiddo?” Rhys furrows his eyebrows in surprise, slightly put off by the implication of the quiet question, stiffening slightly at the prospect of whatever stupid idea Jack came up with this time. And knowing him it involves blows, a not-so friendly tussle or at the very least another atrocity committed against his socks. The thumb at his chin swipes higher to smooth over his lower lip and Rhys chases it away with a growl, nasty glare shot at the other man. He doesn’t like it when Jack gets like this, deceptively sweet, and it makes the hairs on his forearms bristle with apprehension. 

“Hey, hey, stop getting yourself all worked up.” Like hell he will but the calm if demanding tone has him lowering his defensive stance slightly. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You keep running away every time I do this…” The ‘this’ turns out to finally be the kiss, something barely there, a soft drag of lips against lips which eases some of the tension despite his whole body still on high alert. “What are you afraid of cupcake?” 

“Not afraid…” His tongue chases the still fresh memory of the touch, teeth worrying his lower lip in hopes of getting to the bottom of that itch beginning to build under his skin. “...cautious.” Rhys follows his statement with a shrug, slowly beginning to make heads and tails of what Jack is getting at. He sighs, thoughts idly drifting to his original plan. Back then, when he promised to be straight with the other man he didn’t imagine for things to get out of his hands this badly but perhaps he could slightly extend his limited trust placed upon the man currently straddling him. Especially so that it’s Jack initiating those affections over and over again. “You are a hard man to figure out Jack.” It’s no secret that Rhys deals with Jack’s general assery and punches better than … well, everything else. 

“I get the sentiment kiddo but…” hands finally leave his face and Jack raises them with a shrug of his own, one eyebrow crooked and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth “...I’m -just- hard. Nothing else.” It’s met with a snort, but a well-meaning one and Rhys slumps back against the back of the armchair. “Unless you really are into the whole beating the everliving shit out of each other every time we want to bone. I’m down either way.” It’s so unmistakably -Jack- that it does help dispel what’s still left of his previous agitation.

“Could be.”

“Mmm, good. But whatever twisted image of me you’ve created… listen, I like me some R&R every now and then too. Monotony killed the cat or whatever.” This time he welcomes the light touches, returning the affections with his own palms sliding under Jack’s shirt and fingers skirting over the definition of his broad back. So maybe, just maybe he might have been overly suspicious but can you really blame him? While you could skin him alive and Rhys would never admit to those thoughts, something at the back of his mind keeps wondering if Jack could ever stoop so low as to pull some nasty shit amidst gentle touches and soft kisses. Regardless, he only shoves the thought deeper, dirt swept under a rug so he can pretend it was never there.

“Yeah…” When the kiss breaks, his voice comes as a raspy huff, breathed against the side of a strong jaw “...think I can do that.”

“Atta boy.” The patronizing pat he gets is countered with a sharp bite Rhys places against the other’s chin. As much as he likes the sound of that, he has a reputation to uphold. However, it seems that it doesn’t bother Jack in the least as he speaks again. “Care to indulge me even further?” A soft hum is the only prompt he gets to keep talking. “I might have been dreaming somewhat fierce of wrecking your ass lately.” Straight to the point, classic Jack. While it’s not Rhys’ favourite thing in the world, hardly worth the candle in his humble opinion, he doesn’t mind going for what Jack is not so subtly hinting at every now and then. For a second he can see Yvette filling away ‘butt stuff’ in her non-existent notepad and with a restrained chuckle only gives a nod. 

“Need a moment to yourself first pumpkin?” He runs over in his mind his own checklist but taking into consideration that he has recently showered there is no need to call for a half-time.

“Nah, I’m good. Bedroom. Come on. Got stuff there.” Half suspecting that Jack already knows that, given that he’s been occupying that room for a while now, Rhys shoves the other man from his lap, stretching his legs with a complaint already rolling off his tongue. “God you’re heavy.”

He doesn’t however complain when the other man gives him a tug to get moving and he follows obediently, bare feet padding against the cool tiles as he watches Jack slowly undress on his way. First the shirt, dropped carelessly onto the floor and Rhys needs to stuff his hands into his back pockets to keep himself from reaching out. Not yet. And he, on the other hand, keeps his clothes intact, arms moving to cross over his chest, now lingering in the doorway, not unlike the last night, but this time with all the intent of going in instead of out. His lips twitch at the reveal that Jack goes commando, and for a few moments he lets the situation stretch, him fully dressed, the other man completely bare, confidence gained with every passing second. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to prove here, nor to whom, whether it’s to Jack or himself or maybe it’s just to reassure his sorry ass that giving into Jack’s unexpected mellower side will not turn out to be a mistake.

“Come on kiddo, don’t test my patience.” But he -likes- doing that, just as much as Jack loves returning the favour. Fingers hook into the belt loop of his pants, another tug and a whispered ‘asshole’ prompting him to get going. The energy thrumming through tensed muscles is nearly palpable but it remains contained for the time being, Jack uncharacteristically gently peeling Rhys’ shirt instead of ripping it off as expected and a small part of him thinks he could get used to it. He knows he’s getting spoiled here, as he finally moves to sit at the edge of the bed, a hand coming up to press against his now exposed chest, urging him to move up the bed. Jack only stops to reach into the bedside drawer, fishing out a tube of lube. Ha! Called it, Rhys just knew that Jack wouldn’t leave his things in peace but it’s hardly the time for getting annoyed with his antics. Especially not when the familiar warmth settles on top of him, Rhys leaning back on his elbows and letting the attention lavished to his pliantly exposed neck continue. Everything slows down, his world narrowing down to a languid grinding against his still clothed thigh and teeth now grazing along his collarbones. There’s heat building up in the pit of his stomach, slowly beginning to inch higher and threaten to swallow him whole as impatience begins to tug at his self restraint, an urging whimper slipping past his lips. It has to show because Jack only chuckles, low and raspy and when he yanks Rhys’ pants down he’s being eagerly aided, lanky legs kicking them down the rest of the way. For all the physical contact that kept happening between them before, it takes them a moment to adjust to each other, bodies slotting closer with Rhys’ knees now pressed either side of Jack’s torso and all in all it’s comforting, not trying to pull away but working together for once. Falling into their respective gravitational pulls is more like heading for a crash landing, inevitable dashing closer and Rhys wonders if it will end up burning down both of them, a supernova ignited for one magnificent second before leaving a black hole in its wake. 

Coarse hairs tickle the underside of his thigh when the other slips his hand between them and his thoughts snap back to the reality. There comes a grope to his ass followed with an appreciative hum and his eyes meet green and blue ones as the other man sits back on his haunches, a telltale pop of a cap foreshadowing what will come next. Instead of tensing with anticipation, he takes a moment to score the other man with his eyes, gradually taking in his flushed skin, the freckles and the definition of his body. Jack’s eyes are bright, pupils blown, but still collected enough, a stray wisp of hair loosely dangling over his forehead and it sparks a reaction, mechanical arm outstretched to reach towards the his face. It’s thrilling in and of itself but also thrilling enough to make Rhys’ dick twitch, the once so distant, raging douchebag compliantly leaning down and into his palm, now domesticated and subdued. His fingers push through the unruly strands, teasing his hair into its usual style, heavy gaze not leaving his face for a second. From the corner of his eye he can see Jack squeezing a good amount of clear liquid over his fingers and he can’t help but chime in.

“This better not be cold.” He gets a chuckle in reply and a breathy ‘gotcha pumpkin’, a moment given to let the temperature even before warm, slick fingers brush between his legs, poking and prodding and Jack is as blunt as he ever is, wasting no time and pushing deeper. An involuntary hiss and a grunt slip from his parted lips and Rhys urges the other man to give him something else to concentrate on for the time being, free hand guided to the half-hard flesh.

His touch is borderline lazy but then again the fingers working away at the tightness are thorough and with the right curl they have him jerking and sighing. They pull back for a moment, a pillow dragged closer and stuffed under his ass, a little bit of leverage and he arches back into the touch as they returns, pleased hum sounding between little huffs. Rhys is certain they could just leave it at that, the double pleasure enough to have him tipping over the edge if it continues but he’s not the type to just starfish and take. 

“C’mere” Jack gets dragged closer, and the heels digging at the small of his back spur him on. He shifts his weight, propped on his forearm, other hand helping him aim and he slowly sinks in, damp, open mouthed kisses pressed to the side of Rhys’ jaw. He bites his lower lip, cringing at the somewhat stinging discomfort, short, clipped breaths taken through his nose. 

“You stop moving for a second there and I’m biting your dick off.” He hisses through clenched teeth and without missing a beat Jack is already on a backward roll.

“Fuck… Rhysie.” The words are nearly choked, a hitched breath following when metallic fingers scrape over freckled back. “You are so good baby…” He knows Jack isn’t the most eloquent when the heat of the moment takes him, despite his utter adoration for the sound of his own voice, words babbled between the sound of flesh sliding against flesh are far from coherent. And so he pays them little mind, whatever Jack’s trying to tell him, he already knows although little praises and compliments do indeed help in stroking his own ego. 

They work out a fairly reasonable pace, Rhys stretching his arms over his head and the palms against the headboard give him the much needed boost to rock back even though they rob him of some of the closeness. Neither of them is bothered however, and two sets of dual coloured eyes meet, Rhys’ crinkling in the corners with the crooked grin he’s shooting and Jack’s burning, hungrily swallowing the view before him. Sex is a mutual thing,Rhys thinks, you give as much a you take and you meet your partners halfway so when the slow burn turns into something easily pushed to the back of his mind he angles his hips, squirming a little bit until on one of Jack’s forward rolls he hits the jackpot, stars blooming behind his tightly screwed eyelids. There is no finesse to their dumb rutting but either way, there are no extra cookie points to gain from outdoing oneself with backbreaking acrobatics. Not when it’s closeness and intimacy that counts. A droplet of sweat rolls off Jack’s forehead, landing on a flushed cheek, pants and grunts filling the air and they are nearing the last stretch.A little more ragdoll by now, what with his bones positively melting, Rhys gives up on trying to push back, his flesh hand sneaking down to tug at himself as Jack straightens up, kneeling and holding the other man with two steady hands over his hips. It seems like the sight is doing it for him just as much as the tightness clenching around him given that the moment Rhys touches himself, Jack’s hips snap a little bit more jerkily.

“Shit… pumpkin, can I…?” Catching his drift and only gives a heated nod, too wrapped up in his own pleasure to give a damn right now. The pace turns erratic and as Jack finally stills with a stifled whine Rhys chases his own release using the pulsing heat to drive himself home. 

Chest heaving and with his eyes glazed Jack pulls away, sitting back with his back propped against the adjacent wall, similarly like he did last night and at the core of it, exactly -un-like he did then. When his heart rate slows down to something more manageable, Rhys rolls onto his front, spine popping as he stretches with a satisfied sigh. He’s making a move to scramble to his feet, desperately needing another shower but finds himself pinned down with Jack’s legs nonchalantly kicked over the backs of his thighs, which prompts an annoyed growl. 

“Nu-uh. Stay there.” He twists his upper body to look at the other man, leaning on his elbows and tilting his head. Once Jack is sure Rhys won’t bolt straight away, he moves, heavily flopping onto his side next to the warm body and wraps one arm around his waist.

“Cuddles? Really?” Rhys only snorts, but makes no move to pull away, body still pleasantly humming with the echo of his orgasm and in all honesty, there is no harm in letting Jack keep doing whatever he’s doing for a little while longer. There are fingers mapping out the curve of his hip and as Jack tucks his head under his chin, Rhys bows his to nuzzle into the messy hair, breathing in the familiar scent. Really, he doesn’t half mind the cuddles.

“I’m giving you twenty and then I want to see your sorry ass on the way to your office.” His words may be harsh but the light press of his lips against the frown building between Jack’s eyebrows as he shoots him a glare sooths some of it.

“You’re such a joykiller Rhysie.” 

Twenty minutes turn into a full hour but neither says a word about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about getting to write the second part to Bulletproof soon-ish so stay tuned kiddos, mama got everything already figured out!

**Author's Note:**

> A small thing as i keep working on figuring the sequel to Bulletproof I guess.


End file.
